


Mud

by alistairweekend



Series: Izelle Lavellan [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistairweekend/pseuds/alistairweekend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to the prompt: "Izelle/Cullen + mud, mud EVERYWHERE!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mud

The mud was thick, and wet, and deep, and right where Izelle and Cullen needed to walk. A vast field, mud filling the vacant space otherwise reserved for crops during the harvest season, stretched before them, their destination, a village, visible on the other side. Of course there was likely a way around the field, but the pair had been traveling by foot for the whole day, and with nothing but a glance agreed that braving the mud would be worth it, if just barely. The huts, probably oh-so cozy and warm, beckoned them across the field.

Izelle sighed. “I’d always heard Ferelden was wet… and brown. But those sayings were supposed to be exaggerations.”

"Don’t say that in front of any other Fereldan, they’d have your hide for it," Cullen chuckled.

She gave him a puzzled look. “But I’ve heard Fereldans themselves say such things.”

"Oh, they can insult their country all they like. Just not foreigners. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what started the animosity between Ferelden and Orlais."

Giggles bubbled from Izelle, and Cullen had to grin at the sound. He waited until it ceased before continuing, an eye on the buildings in the distance. “All right, we’d better get this over with.” When he received no reply, Cullen glanced over to see Izelle’s mien of discomfort. “What? You’ve certainly faced worse than a field of mud.”

"I know, I’m just… not looking forward to how it’ll feel." She curled her bare toes in the grass.

Cullen was silent for a moment, and Izelle likely worried he was annoyed by her trivial worry, but when she dared to look over at him she found a smirk on his face. “Seems like there’s one solution, then.”

"Wh— aah!" Izelle yelped as she was scooped up by Cullen, one hand under the crook of her legs and the other under her arm. She clasped her hands around his neck, eyes wide as she shifted until her position was more comfortable. A nervous trill escaped her lips. “What are you _doing_ , Cullen?”

“Being a  _gentleman_.” Neither of them could keep smiles off their faces at that.

Cullen took a step into the mud, and grimaced at the squelch and sensation of his boot sinking a good inch. As his other foot moved forward, he could tell he would have to be cautious as he felt himself slide slightly on the slick substance.

“Careful,” Izelle muttered, clinging to him tighter, but a giddiness hid behind her voice. Cullen hushed her and scrunched his nose in concentration, glaring at the unreliable terrain before him.

But his efforts were for naught. Halfway across the field, just as he began to grow confident in his steps, the ground gave way with a sudden, quick slip and Cullen found himself lying in the mud, face towards the sky. He groaned in displeasure, gritting his teeth as he thought of the muck seeping into his armor and staining his overcoat. It would take quite the effort to clean.

Having been misplaced in the fall, Izelle lay beside the lower half of Cullen’s body. A peal of laughter erupted from her, and she rolled onto her stomach to crawl closer to him, her green Dalish armor turned brown by a thick coat of mud. Cullen made to sit up, but his hand found no traction on the ground and the effort only resulted in him falling back again, mud splattering everywhere from the impact. Izelle’s laughter intensified, and Cullen’s mouth widened into a smile despite himself. He glanced over to her just in time to see a mischievous glint in the Inquisitor’s eyes, a hand raised with an enormous glob of mud in it. “Don’t you dare—!”

With a firm  _splat_ , the front of Cullen’s armor was soiled. Izelle’s giggling turned to shrieking as Cullen’s eyes narrowed and he scrambled to an upright position, swiping a handful of mud himself. It caught the side of Izelle’s head as she desperately tried to avoid it, limbs flailing. She gasped in shock at the cold substance oozing down her cheek. “Oh, it is  _on_.”

Mud went flying, and their battle lasted several minutes before Izelle managed to pin Cullen by climbing on top of him with a triumphant crow. He let his head fall back with a defeated grunt, a clump of mud falling from his hair. Grinning, Izelle claimed her victory with a kiss.

“I suppose we should get a move on,” she chuckled after pulling away.

“All right, but  _you’re_  explaining what on earth happened to us when Cassandra asks.”


End file.
